


you tell me you’re tipsy; i tell you you’re pretty

by kattyshack



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Jon Snow knows something, Sexual Content, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-30 22:51:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10174208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattyshack/pseuds/kattyshack
Summary: Margaery is on holiday and Sam and Gilly are out for date night, but their wingman skills are unmatched, even when it's only via text message.Or: When their friends have had it with all the sexual frustration and wistful stares, Jon and Sansa are about to learn the power of the written word.(title from “text me in the morning,” by neon trees)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AliceInNeverNeverLand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceInNeverNeverLand/gifts).



> for @goodqueenalys, because i read in one of her reblog tags that she could use a pick-me-up this week

**SANSA:** I’m so sexually frustrated that I just annihilated my dinner.

**MARGAERY:** ...with your vagina?

**SANSA:** No, Margaery, not ~with my vagina~ 

**SANSA:** I just stuffed my face because I have no other way to deal with my frustration. I’m eating my problems.

**MARGAERY:** did you do that thing where you insist on fitting a forkful of every entree and side into your mouth all at once?

**SANSA:** At one point I had half a filet and what I’m quite sure was a whole potato in my mouth.

**MARGAERY:** i can’t believe you’re single 

**SANSA:** Single and ready to bone.

**MARGAERY:** i believe the word you’re looking for is MINGLE, you lush 

**MARGAERY:** anyway. i thought you couldn’t get horny. aren’t you asexual? 

**SANSA:** That only means I don’t see someone and think, “I wanna tap that.” But I can still want sex. God, I want sex… I can’t even choose a sobbing gif dramatic enough to explain. 

**MARGAERY:** i don’t get it. the asexual thing, not the gif thing. i can never quite find the right gif, either

**MARGAERY:** so. acehood. to quote the spice girls’ iconic hit… tell me whatchu want, whatchu really really want

**SANSA:** You like art. But I don’t imagine you’re ever looking at an Andy Warhol and think, “You know what? I wanna bang this painting.”

**MARGAERY:** you’re like a sex education goddess lighting my way, hallelujah 

**SANSA:** You’re welcome.

**MARGAERY:** i thought you were on a date?

**SANSA:** He left.

**MARGAERY:** he LEFT? are you still there??

**SANSA:** I was hungry. Besides, I knew he was going to leave. He asked what I was “looking for” and when I told him, he did that thing where he pretended he was cool with the idea of a serious relationship, then excused himself after ten minutes. 

**MARGAERY:** how do you know he doesn’t just have indigestion?

**SANSA:** The loo’s to my right. He went left. 

**MARGAERY:** ouch. so what now?

**SANSA:** Now I get drunk by myself, unless you plan on cutting your holiday short and hopping a flight to rescue me. I’m in dire need of it, since I’ve just been ditched and I’m surrounded by half a dozen other people in very close proximity who are probably reading these messages as I type them.

**MARGAERY:** they probably want to know if your date left for good so they can pay your tab out of pity

**SANSA:** Bless them, then. 

* * *

The last time Sansa had been ditched before the main course, her date had left his credit card behind and she’d made good use of it. She’s sorry that this one wasn’t so absentminded. But if she’s honest with herself, she probably wouldn’t have done it again regardless. 

To be fair, the last time had been a special case. Her date had also been her boyfriend, who had opted for a public breakup for god knows what reason. Harry had left her at the table in tears, so she figured a three hundred-dollar charge to his card was proper retribution. It’s not like she’d spent all of it on herself, either; she’d paid for a few other patrons’ dinners and drinks, and she’d been on her way. 

So while this sucked big time, Sansa has to admit that it’s not  _ so _ bad. At least she’s not crying. Embarrassed, sure, but she’ll probably never see most of the people at her table again, so at least the humiliation won’t linger. Unless she runs into the man and woman seated next to her, that is, as they all live in the same building a few streets away. 

Sansa hasn’t had much time to socialize with any of her neighbors, but these two seem nice. The man is round and well-dressed, and has a soft and courteous way of speaking to everyone, as far as Sansa can tell. The woman—a cute little thing with big brown eyes and a big bright laugh—has shot her a few concerned glances and at least two sympathetic smiles now. There’s a silent solidarity between them. Sansa only hopes it’s enough to ensure that neither of them tell their cute roommate about this disaster date. She doesn’t have the best track record, obviously, but she’d been hoping that he might quit ogling her long enough to ask her out sometime. 

It’s not that she’s _attracted_ _to_ him, really, just as she’d explained to Margaery. But she’d always been a sucker for curly hair and a nice smile, and those wire-rimmed glasses he wears are just Too Much. And, sure, he ogles her on the regular, but it’s not like he’d asked for her number and then forced her to ogle him back via unsolicited dick pics, which way too many guys find acceptable for some reason. Sansa gets an entirely different vibe from the cute roommate, that’s all, and it’s a vibe that she actually likes for once. 

She signals for another drink. Maybe she’ll run into the guy on her way back, and be just drunk enough to hit on him. Or puke on his shoes. Whichever. 

* * *

**SAM:** Gilly  & I are at the North St Bistro & we’re seated right next to that girl you fancy.

**JON:** The North St. Bistro? Isn’t that like a 5-star restaurant?

**SAM:** 4\. So?

**JON:** How did you get into a 4-star restaurant?

**SAM:** I made a reservation,  & you’re missing the point.

**JON:** I’m not, the point is just giving me a mild panic attack so I’m purposely avoiding it.

**SAM:** Her date ditched her, if that helps.

**JON:** She had a DATE?

**SAM:** What? Yes. Jon, calm down, it’s not like you’re married to the woman. You just stare wistfully at her every time you’re both checking the mailboxes in the apt at the same time. 

**JON:** I stare wistfully at her when she jogs up and down the stairs, too. 

**JON:** Where d’you think she needs to get so quickly all the time, anyway?

**SAM:** Idk, probably on one of her many dates.

**JON:** What did I ever do to you to make you treat me this way?

**SAM:** Relax. He left. She’s been texting someone abt it. 

**JON:** Are you reading her texts??

**SAM:** She’s like 2inches from me. Gilly told me to do it. 

**JON:** And she didn’t hear the two of you conspiring to infringe upon her privacy?

**SAM:** 1st of all, no, she was ordering another wine while we schemed 

**SAM:** 2nd of all, don’t talk to me abt infringing on the poor girl’s privacy when I know for a fact that you changed your biking route to correspond w/ her jogging one.

**JON:** I have no idea what you’re talking about but I am offended. 

**SAM:** I’ll make it up to you by telling you that she’s sexually frustrated, according to her texts. She seems lonely enough to deign to give you a chance in hell.

**JON:** You’re getting mean-drunk-Sam on me. I’m going to call Gilly and tell her to cut you off. 

**SAM:** Come tell me yourself. There’s an extra seat at the table now that Sarah’s date has left.

**JON:** Sansa. 

**SAM:** How is it that you know her name when you’ve never spoken to her?

**JON:** I might have caught a glimpse of her mail once or twice. 

**SAM:** If you’re going to be peeking on her bills, you might as well do the gentlemanly thing  & pay one of them for her. 

* * *

Jon paces the apartment, phone in hand since Sam’s buzzing him incessantly. He can’t just  _ show up  _ at the North Street Bistro and… what? What would he even do once he got there? Just take her dumbass date’s vacated seat like, “Oh, hey, I’m that guy who’s been panting at you like a dog in heat ever since you moved into my building. I’ve no idea what to say to you, but my friend was covertly reading your texts and figured I could restore your faith in men by going down on you for several hours.”

No. Stupid. 

Stupid  _ at best, _ Jon amends. Sexual harassment at worst. 

His phone buzzes again. Jon almost wants to put it on silent, toss it in a drawer, and go back to staring at the cute ginger from a safe distance. You know, like a stalker. Sooner or later she’d get creeped out, move, and then Jon could go back to a peaceful existence, totally uninterrupted by his traitorous libido. 

Okay, so he supposes he could just talk to her. He knows she’s caught him staring, and he’s not exactly smooth so he was always complete bollocks at covering it up. He pretended he was using the light behind her to check his glasses for smudges like  _ way  _ too often. Of course, his glasses usually were smudged, but the facts didn’t make it any less stupid. 

Bottom line: He’s an idiot. So, as idiocracy demands, Jon unlocks his phone and reads Sam’s latest message:  _ Gilly said I should tell you that Sansa’s wearing that black dress she wore that day you walked into the lobby wall when you saw her. The short one, with the sweetheart neckline and the lace trim. Gilly seems to think the lace trim is especially important to you.  _

God fucking damn it. Jon silences his phone but, instead of a drawer, he shoves it in his pocket and grabs his nice jacket from the hall closet. Because you know what, the lace trim  _ is  _ especially important to him, so what the hell, right? 

* * *

**SANSA:** Oh. Em. Gee. That cute guy from my building is here.

**MARGAERY:** there are like seven cute guys in your complex

**SANSA:** The one with the dog and the curly hair. 

**MARGAERY:** the broody one? not your usual type, which means you should probably go for it and it’ll be the best thing that’s ever happened to your love life

**SANSA:** What’s that supposed to mean?

**MARGAERY:** you have shitty taste in men 

**SANSA:** Thanks.

**MARGAERY:** don’t mention it 

**MARGAERY:** now back to broody mcbrooderson. what’s he doing there? is he on a date?

**SANSA:** Looks more like he’s crashing one. His roommates are here, and I know they’re dating because I’ve caught them snogging on the landing before.

**MARGAERY:** on the LANDING?? don’t they have a HOME?

**SANSA:** I’ve literally been in the same room as you while you were having sex.

**MARGAERY:** at least i’m HAVING sex, unlike SOME PEOPLE i could mention...

**SANSA:** What a cheap shot.

**MARGAERY:** quit complaining and bat those eyelashes at your new boyfriend, and then maybe you can have sex too

* * *

Maybe it’s all the wine talking, but Sansa could swear there’s some sort of conspiracy happening at her table that she’s more or less wholly unaware of. Her neighbors—Sam and Gilly, she’d finally remembered because she’s  _ rude _ (she really needs to start socializing more)—are quite clearly in cahoots, and it would seem that they’ve dragged their cute roommate along for the cahoot-y ride.

Jon—she’d remembered his name too, so Sansa assumes this is her lucky night, all things considered—had shown up hardly ten minutes ago. Sam had waved him over more enthusiastically than Sansa deemed necessary, no matter how lick-your-lips good he looks. Between his dark-wash jeans and black button-down and jacket, really it looks like he’s in mourning. But like a  _ sexy _ mourning, Sansa tries to explain to herself as he walks towards their table. Like he feels bad for her vagina.

Sensual touching and orgasm neglect is too real, and Sansa appreciates that Jon would raise awareness for it in such a handsome way. 

Okay, so maybe she’s in over her head with the wine, but Sansa orders another and presses her thighs together. The last thing she should be thinking about is cute roommate Jon in conjunction with her vagina. That is to say, if he doesn’t plan on getting near it, Sansa just doesn’t think it’s fair to tease herself with the thought. 

When Jon reaches the table, he claps Gilly on the shoulder and leans across to give Sam a firm handshake. God, he’s got nice hands… Sansa’s not sure what they could do, but  _ aesthetically _ they’re flawless. She’s also not sure if she should blame that errant thought on her asexuality or her fine arts degree, but either way she’s not wrong. 

Jon doesn’t meet her eye until he’s pulling out her date’s abandoned chair, but when he does it’s with a small smile and the most nerve-riddled “Hi” she’s ever heard. Sansa would say that’s the wine talking, too, but there’s no mistaking the blush creeping up Jon’s neck when she returns the greeting. 

And all at once, with nary but Jon’s well-place dimple, Sansa’s not wishing for her fickle date’s credit card numbers anymore.

* * *

**JON:** Why am I here

**GILLY:** You listened to tipsy Sam

**JON:** WHY AM I HERE isn’t this weird? I just show up and don’t speak to her???

**GILLY:** You said hi

**JON:** Please tell me that I did not actually do that.

**GILLY:** Why? Saying hi is polite. What’s NOT polite is texting me when you could be chatting her up instead

**GILLY:** (which is the whole reason we manipulated you into coming, btw)

**JON:** What am I supposed to say to her??

**JON:** HI?? ????

**GILLY:** You are tremendously overreacting

**JON:** I think I am overreacting exactly the right amount, thank you.

**GILLY:** You left your crown at home, drama queen. Time to man up and speak actual words to the girl you’ve been eye-diddling for three months

**JON:** I’m never letting you and Sam drink together again. He gets mean, you get lewd. Quite the double act.  

**GILLY:** “Diddling” is possibly the least lewd thing I could have said

**JON:** I don’t DIDDLE.

**GILLY:** I’m screen-grabbing that and sending it to everyone we know

* * *

This night isn’t exactly going to plan.

Not that Jon had a plan to begin with—clearly not. It just so happened that Sam and Gilly had made reservations at the North Street Bistro on the same night that Sansa had a date. And it was just a shot in the dark that Sansa’s date would ditch her in the middle of dinner, because it was just Jon’s luck that she’d go out with someone in obvious need of a lobotomy. And it was only Jon’s long and storied history of “Shit happens, guess I’ll wing it” that had brought him to this point, to this table, sitting across from the definition of  _ drop dead gorgeous and maybe only a little unattainable. _

Okay, so, no, admittedly there had never been a plan. So in that regard, things are actually going rather well. She’d smiled at him a few times, anyway; maybe he hadn’t totally creeped her out with the months’ worth of staring just yet. The girl clearly has stamina. Or perhaps it’s just an inordinate amount of patience, but Jon prefers the sound of “stamina.”

Once he’d arrived, Gilly and Sam had taken a leaf out of Sansa’s date’s book and took off as soon as they could. Sam had explained it away—“Work in the morning, you know how it is,” he’d said, completely insincere, not to mention the next morning was Sunday so it was  _ obviously _ a line to get Jon and Sansa alone. 

* * *

**JON:** What the hell, man

**SAM:** THE ## YOU R TRYING TO REACH HASBEEN DISCONNECTD     
****

**JON:** There are at least three typos in there   
****

**JON:** P.S. I hate you

* * *

Of course, Jon doesn’t hate him. Not really. Sam had only orchestrated what Jon couldn’t, and that was to get some romantic one-on-one time with Sansa. Jon would have preferred to be a bit more honest about his intentions, but Sansa had caught on as soon as he’d walked in, anyway, and she doesn’t seem to mind.

“So is that how you get all your dates to go out with you?” she asks as soon as Sam and Gilly are out of earshot. “Your mates scope out hotspots for rejects, and then you swoop in on your white horse to save the day?”

“Actually—” Jon adjusts the collar of his shirt— “I have a dog.”

Sansa purses her lips to keep from grinning, but anyone could tell the smile’s still there. “I know. Although to be honest, the first time I saw him I thought a bear had escaped the zoo and taken up residence in the nearest apartment. What breed is he?”

Jon chuckles. “Hybrid. Husky and mastiff. So you’re almost not wrong.”

“That’s usually the case with me.” Sansa swirls her wine, considers it, then takes a sip. “Until it comes to men, anyway. No offense, but I have an impressive record of misinterpretation when it comes to you lot.” 

“Ah—right. I figured you didn’t come here alone, despite appeareances.”

She smirks. “Yeah, because Sam told you so.”  

“Well… yeah,” Jon admits. He may have his head up his arse most of the time, but he’s no liar. “Yeah, he did.”

“That’s alright.” Sansa sighs, more content than resigned, and leans back in her chair. Her fingertips circle the mouth of her wine glass to make it whistle, just a bit. “Everyone else here knew I’d been filed and forgotten. I don’t mind that someone sent for a knight in shining armor. Provided that’s what you’re doing here, anyway,” she adds as something of an afterthought. She might have been more embarrassed at the realization, but she’d been fortified by a lot of wine and a little  _ fuck it. _

“Umm…” Jon fiddles with his collar again. Sansa has already begun to recognize it as something of a nervous tic. He follows her alcohol-equals-fortitude example and takes a swig of beer. “I guess if you’re being honest with me, then I can tell you—I mean, yeah. Yeah, that’s basically what I’m doing here.”  

“Sorry,” Sansa says, not sounding sorry at all. “I didn’t want you to have to fake aloofness anymore. You’re not very good at it.”

“Nah,” Jon laughs. Hadn’t he thought just the same before he’d thrown caution to the winds and come here? But he doesn’t mind; Sansa’s already well worth any public humiliation. “I’m really not.”

* * *

**MARGAERY:** please tell me you’re not still sitting alone at that table. bc honestly. it would be pathetic, but not enough for me to not mock you for it

**SANSA:** Charming. 

**MARGAERY:** oh, god, that means you’re still there, doesn’t it?

**MARGAERY:** DOESN’T IT ?

**SANSA:** Yes and no. I think I’m having sex in like eight minutes.

**MARGAERY:** … … … 

**SANSA:** I’m not alone, and it takes about six and a half minutes to walk back to our building.

**MARGAERY:** OUR building????? 

**MARGAERY:** sansa 

**SANSA:** Margaery. 

**MARGAERY:** are you fucking your landlord into giving you half the deed to the building? 

**SANSA:** Unless “Broody McBrooderson” is secretly my landlord, then… no.

**MARGAERY:** i hate you. call me later

**MARGAERY:** slut 

* * *

Sansa had always lamented her bad luck with dates. As fun as it is to get all dolled up for her own devices, it was a bummer to drag herself home at the end of the night when it inevitably didn’t work out.

Tonight, though, she thinks she might have to send an Edible Arrangements to her date ditcher for doing her such a phenomenal favor. Because now…

Jon slams her against his bedroom wall, making the bathroom mirror on the other side shudder ominously. Fuck it, Jon can buy a new mirror. His mouth is on Sansa’s throat and he’s got her hands trapped above her head, his fingers locking her wrists in place so he can do whatever he likes to her, which is entirely amenable to her, per her instructions. 

“You can do whatever you want,” she’d told him in the alley behind their apartments. Her breath was hot in his ear, her fingernails sharp on his collarbone. “Just don’t stop talking to me while you’re doing it, and stop everything if I tell you to.” 

Even though that is Jon’s general M.O., hearing the words in Sansa’s low, steady voice, breathed against his neck, had just about undone him then and there. He’s convinced that the only thing that kept him going was the fact that he hadn’t kissed her yet, and he planned to kiss her all sorts of interesting places.

Okay. So, like,  _ one _ interesting place. Because interesting as her mouth is, that was a pretty standard move; and anyway, he’d thought about getting his head between her legs just as much.

But first, he laves attention upon her mouth, her neck and shoulders, jawline and earlobes. His hips ram hers against the wall and his free hand shoves its way under the neckline of her dress, and he mutters filthy endearments like he was born to do it. Which, in retrospect, is a weird calling, but Jon’s not thinking about it in hindsight just yet.

“I think about this every time I see you,” he says, and bites the slope of her shoulder. His hand moves from her chest to her thighs. He’d wanted to draw it out, tease her, but  _ god _ strike him down because he’s not going to be able to wait. “Every time, I want to touch you, I don’t want to flirt or mess about, I just want to get you alone in my bedroom and—” he thrusts into her, cursing the clothes that separate them— “ _fuck_ you.” 

Sansa moans, the sound reverberating deliciously against Jon’s open mouth while he tongues her neck like it’s practice for her cunt. She’s not a talker, not much of a toucher, and Jon revels in her submission. He wants to give her pleasure, make her feel good and nothing but, and he wants all of it to be under her control. 

So when she groans  _ “Touch me” _ against his mouth, Jon is only too happy to comply.

“Fuck, you’re wet.” Jon plucks harried kisses from her lips while his fingers dip into her panties. “How long have you wanted this Sansa, tell me, how long have you wanted me?” 

“Since—the first day I saw you,” Sansa says in short gasps while Jon’s fingers work slow then quick then slow again inside her, setting a tantalizing rhythm that’s sure to wind her up for days. “ _God_ , Jon, you seemed so nice, I wanted _nice_ —” 

Jon slows his pace, unsure for a moment whether she’s reprimanding or just talking. “Should I stop?”

“No,” she says, immediately. “No, keep— _damn_ , keeping doing that…”   

* * *

**SAM:** would you two MIND keeping it DOWN in there?

**GILLY:** I told him not to text you. 

**GILLY:** Although you’re very likely not checking your phone, anyway, we can hear you through the wall and—yup, there goes our hanging plant. You’re paying for a new pot, Snow. 

* * *

Jon’s phone is lighting up in his jacket pocket, but he’d shrugged that off by now and he doesn’t notice a thing. He drops to his knees in front of Sansa and his arm muscles tense when he feels up her thighs. Much as he’d like to rip a pair of tights from her, he’s glad she’d forgone the accessory. Tonight he wants her bare skin beneath his and he wants it _now_. 

Besides, if he has his way, he’ll have ample opportunity to ruin her wardrobe. 

(And Jon doesn’t like to brag, but when it comes to going down on a girl, he usually gets his way. Especially considering that going down is already about half the battle won.)

(Eliciting orgasm is the other half.)

The higher his hands twitch, the warmer her skin gets. Jon likes to think it has at least a little to do with him; and if he were to ask, Sansa would say he plays a significant part, but then again she’s not familiar with the biology of the whole thing so who knows? What they both _do_ know, though, is that Sansa’s hips cant towards his mouth like there’s some sort of cunnilingus magnet that had brought them together in the first place. 

Jon shoves his glasses up into his hair. Sansa’s grip on his tresses ensures that his specs will come back bent, but all that means is a resounding  _ well done  _ on his part. She could break the damn things for all he cares. 

“You’ve wanted me for months,” Jon breathes against that lace-trimmed hem of her dress while he palms her hip bones, “but you’d be with someone else if tonight had gone differently.” 

Sansa presses her lips together to prevent a delighted squeal. Jon hardly knows her but, damn, does he know how to rile her up.

“I would have thought of you.”

She feels the quirk of Jon’s grinning lips as he plants kisses on her thighs. “What would you think of me?”

“Exactly what you’re doing now.”

Considering all he’s done is tease the lines of her underwear with his teeth and tongue, Jon is impressed. Or he would be, probably, if all the blood hadn’t left his brain, thus rendering him near-useless, even in his own private thoughts.  

His hands sweep her legs—from her ankles up her calves to the back of her knees all the way up until they clutch her hips and yank her cunt a kiss away from his desperately wanting mouth. 

“And what is it that I’m doing now?” Jon wants to know, and Sansa is sure that she’s about to come from the way his words ghost against her. 

“Fucking me about,” she manages to choke out, but she’s pleased to note that her voice is steadier than she feels.  _ Boss ass bitch points to me.  _

“Close enough,” Jon allows between a chuckle and an appreciative groan when he pulls her panties down and— _finally_ —buries his face in the apex of her thighs.   

“Holy _shit_.” Sansa grits her teeth when Jon’s tongue dips into her and her head bangs against the wall as a result. She’s not sure what she expected of tonight, but god damn if this boy can’t eat pussy like a champ. 

* * *

**MARGAERY:** oh my god, it’s three hours later and i still haven’t heard a word

**MARGAERY:** how long can you possibly have sex for ?????

* * *

Sansa feels loose and boneless, positively wicked and absolutely sated all at once. If she had known Jon’s intentions had been all about his mouth on her clit for actual hours, perhaps she would have tried to get to know him sooner. It’s not even about the orgasms—well, that _is_ the end to the means Sansa had been trying to fulfill with all those fruitless dates—but more that Jon cares enough to make her feel good, because that in turn makes  _ him _ feel good.  

That’s all Jon had been after. The wholly altruistic—melodramatic as it sounds—intent to make Sansa feel good. He hadn’t pushed her hands or head to his cock, but his mouth had gone straight for her as soon as he knew she wanted it, too. 

That was something, Sansa thinks in Jon’s bed, her mouth at his shoulder and his hand playing upon her spine. Maybe it  _ shouldn’t _ be something, maybe everyone should have the same intent; but the point is that they didn’t and Jon did. She’s not congratulating him for that, but fuck if she doesn’t adore him for it. 

“What do you like about me?” she asks now, in the dark and the quiet following the way that she had let herself go beneath Jon’s touch and care. “Caught you staring half a million times and I still don’t know.”

“Your posture is crazy straight.” The calloused pads of Jon’s fingertips rotate tiny circles into the base of her spine. “That sounds like a joke. But I’ve always thought that has something to do with one’s confidence. I saw you walk into the building, all straight-backed, lifted chin, and I thought… I dunno. _Fuck_ , I suppose. You had this invigorating sense of pride, right from the start. Got me going.” 

Sansa’s not quite sure how to respond to that, as it’s nothing she’d ever expected before. It would seem that Jon Snow is just full of surprises.

“Sansa?” His voice is a quiet murmur, but she can hear her name clear as day in the vibrations of his chest. 

“Hmm?”

“Stay tonight,” he requests. Then, in a vain attempt to make it sound as though he’s not begging, as he most definitely _is_ , he adds, “If you were planning on it already, I mean, I’d like you to.” 

“Hmm,” Sansa hums again, this time in comfort rather than question. She nuzzles into his shoulder and her fingers trace the strong lines of his torso. “As if I’d walk up another flight of stairs just for an empty bed.” 

_ Oh, thank god,  _ Jon thinks, and only realizes he’s also said it aloud when Sansa laughs. He rolls atop her and catches the sound in his mouth. 

* * *

**JON:** I’d say I’m sorry for the plant, but… Look, you guys know that thing died like two weeks ago, right?

**JON:** You know what, last night was worth about a thousand new pots, as I’m sure you heard.

**JON:** So I’ll still buy you a new one, but you needed to know about the hydrangea, anyway. 

* * *

**SANSA:** I’m not entirely sure what sort of mammal Jon is, but once I can sneak away from him for five minutes I’m going to Google which ones have a habit of eating out the females.

**MARGAERY:** is he australian 

**SANSA:** Am i just majorly hungover, or did you really ask me that?

**MARGAERY:** bc he spends so much time  _ down under _

**SANSA:** I was going to call you this evening, but now I’m not speaking to you for three days. 

**MARGAERY:** the punishment fits the crime. but just know that, as your dearest friend and confidante, i’m glad that date night wasn’t the colossal waste of tinder it usually is for you

**MARGAERY:** ;)

* * *

It was, Sansa reflects when she wakes up with Jon the next early afternoon, quite a good date night, after all.


End file.
